


responses to: harry potter and the philosopher's stone

by slavetohiscat



Series: the misguided harry potter re-read of doom [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 5,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slavetohiscat/pseuds/slavetohiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a slightly insane project to post a short fic response to every chapter of the Harry Potter books. I'll be stunned if I make it all the way to the end!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the boy who lived

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed WIP. I'll add tags/warnings as they arise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'No, thank you,' said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbert lemons."

"Take one, pass it on," said Dumbledore, with evangelical zeal.  

Sprout removed a sherbet lemon from the candy-striped paper bag and regarded it suspiciously. "What does it do?" 

"They're fizzy," said Dumbledore, as though he were announcing they'd just won the lottery, "and they taste of lemons." 

Quiet fell gradually over the staffroom as the bag was passed around. 

Snape crunched his lemon critically. "Tartaric acid, I think. Wartweed would have needed less sugar to mask the taste." 

"Wartweed gives one such terrible wind," said Flitwick, "a Fizzing Charm is a far better solution." 

"Much less efficient. Imagine having to charm each sweet individually on a commercial scale!" 

Flitwick looked like he was prepared to fight for it. "A competent Wizard would charm the filling by the batch—" 

"No, no! No, no, no!" interrupted Dumbledore. "The point is that there's not a shred of magic anywhere in that sweet! The Muggles found a way to do it all on their own." 

"They're not as nice as Fizzing Wizzbees, are they?" said Sprout, who had been slowly sucking away all this time. "Though bless the Muggles for trying." 

McGonagall was last in line for the bag and refused her sherbet with a firm hand wave. 

"I do hope this is a clever lead-in to the first item on our in-service day agenda, Professor Dumbledore?" 

 


	2. the vanishing glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word."

“You will never in a million millennia guess what happened to me today,” said Charlie Hopkirk, without preamble, as she crashed through the kitchen door and collapsed onto a chair by the table.

“I’d rather make a cup of tea, to be honest,” said Mafalda, his wife, who had just Apparated in from work herself.

“I met Harry Potter, Mafalda! Harry Potter!” He paused dramatically but Mafalda just refilled the kettle and poked the stove with her wand to light the fire underneath it.

“I knew it was him the moment I saw him,” continued Charlie. “I was walking down Oxford Street on my way to lunch and there he was.”

“There are lots of ten-year-old boys on Oxford Street, Charlie.”

“But how many of them have messy black hair _exactly_ like James Potter’s?”

“Quite a few, I should imagine.”

“And how many of them have scars on their foreheads? Scars in the shape of a lightning bolt?”

The kettle started whistling, shrill and throaty. They both ignored it.

“So it _is_ true,” breathed Mafalda. “The poor boy.”

 


	3. the letters from no one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smeltings stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand."

It’s not that Stonewall High was a rough school, per se. It was just that, by the time its pupils reached the upper school and had endured four years’ worth of surprise attacks from Smeltings sticks, all of its pupils had at least a passing familiarity with the basics of hand-to-hand combat.

Harry was an exception to this in that he was already familiar with the ways of the Smeltings stick before he got there.

Nobody had really noticed Harry much in the first week of term. He was a just another speccy, massy-haired first year who never asked questions in class. But on Friday, when the Smeltings boys came thundering over the hill, sticks readied for the first pleb-beating of the year, Harry knew exactly what to do.

“Let’s see how fast they can run, shall we?” drawled a Smeltings boy with too much gel in his hair.

The Stonewall first years clumped together. They’d never been in a school fight before. They weren’t sure what the procedure was. Were they allowed to just go home?

Harry was having none of that. His eyes scanned the Smeltings crowd and he was off, charging towards a familiar fat-necked face in the crowd of attackers.

“Step close in and grab the bastards by the wrists,” he called over his shoulder. “That’s the trick.”

Harry was outnumbered twenty five to one. Dudley almost felt sorry for the runt as he kamikazed towards certain death - surely not even Harry was stupid enough to… Gone! His Smeltings stick was gone!

“Get the sticks off them and then we’ll see how fast _they_ can run,” shouted Harry.

And the Stonewall first years charged.

*

In this universe, Harry never does defeat Voldemort. But he does finish school with above-average grades and a Head Boy’s badge to boot.


	4. the keeper of the keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Dear Mr Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Minerva _almost_ hums to herself as she ascends the staircase of the Small Locked Tower, her favourite tower of all at Hogwarts, to perform her favourite task of all those that befall her as Deputy Head. _Almost_. Minerva retains her dignity, even when alone.

The Book is ready for her, opened at the page for this school year. A thin sheen of dust lies on the open spread as though it had been left like that for generations, but Minerva knew it would have opened itself for her that morning.

Minerva opens her handbag and removes a sheaf of crested parchment and a brand new Phoenix quill she bought earlier that day at Scrivenshafts. Transforming one sheet into a chair and another into a desk, she settles herself in for the quiet hour ahead — she would not risk working on the same desk as the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.

 _Dear Ms Granger,_ she begins.

It is unnecessary, strictly speaking, to write each acceptance letter by hand, but Minerva respects the ceremony too much to modernise it. She remembers her own letter, how it had felt in her hands and what it had meant to her and her mother… but she is not here to dwell on the past. The point is that some things deserve a personal touch.

Minerva imagines how Ms Granger, Hermione (Minerva approves of the name), will react when she visits her to deliver the letter by hand tomorrow, to explain that yes, magic exists, and yes, Hermione is a Witch.

She imagines how the girl’s parents will react. How many cups of tea they will need? Will they be proud? Scared? Jealous?

Presently, Minerva comes to the end of the list. _Dear Mr Longbottom_ , goes quickly. Then, _Dear Mr Potter…_

Harry Potter, the baby on the doorstep with the lightning-bolt scar, a letter clutched in his tiny fist. Well a very different sort of letter will be delivered to Number 4, Privet Drive tomorrow.

Minerva signs the letter with an unusually indulgent flourish. It’s time for the boy to leave those awful Muggles behind him.


	5. diagon alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'Tell ye what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’t like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl.'"

Algie walked carelessly into the train compartment, being careful to slam the door shut in such a way as to attract maximum attention for his entrance. He had made a new purchase, and he wanted everyone to know about it. Especially Martha Crump, who was, as far as Algie was concerned, the prettiest girl in all of Hogwarts.

“What’s in the box, Algie?” asked Maureen Hardspine, who was sitting near the window and, more significantly, next to Edith.

“I’ll show you.” Algie opened the box with a flourish and let the toad inside jump out onto Maureen’s lap.

She screamed delightedly. “Oh, a _new_ _toad_. How marvellous! And so very, very small. What type is it? Is it a _Paedophryne verrucosa_?”

The toad was indeed very small, only two inches long. It was the bright, luminous orange of pumpkin juice and had a waxy sheen.

“She’s a _Bufo periglenes_ from Costa Rica. They’re very rare. I collected him myself from the cloud forest. They mate once every ten years in pools of water that collect between tree roots.”

Martha still hadn’t looked up from her book, so Algie added, “I’m going to call her Martha.”

That did it. Martha looked up and saw the tiny golden frog, and saw Algie, and gave the tiniest of smiles.

*

_Thirty years later:_

“You’re going to be such a hit with the ladies, Neville,” said Great Uncle Algie gleefully as he watched Neville open his present.

“I’m going to call him Trevor.”

Algie grinned over Neville’s head in the general direction of Great Aunt Martha, who was at that moment eating a slice of toast and smiling to herself, just a little.


	6. the journey from platform nine and three quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'Why are you going to London?' Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.  
> 'Taking Dudley to hospital,' growled Uncle Vernon. 'Got to get that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings.'"

Aunt Petunia woke up with a splitting headache. Uncle Vernon woke up with half his moustache missing. And Dudley woke up with a curly pigs tail emerging from the base of his spine.

Vernon could tell that Petunia was nearing the end of her tether. She had pursed her lips so far they were practically vertical on her face and she sat bolt upright in bed, as though the events of last night could be reversed just by shear force of alertness this morning.

"How about a nice cup of tea, dear?" Offered Vernon soothingly. "A nice cup of tea? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"There isn't any tea," stated Petunia dryly.

There wasn't any tea. Nor was there anything for breakfast, now matter how many times Dudley gazed longingly at the cake box that infernal giant _thing_ had brought the _boy_ last night.

Dudley came running from outside, tripping over himself and landing tail-first in front of the fire. "It's gone!" he whined. "Dad, Harry's taken the boat and I'm hungry and I have a taaaail!"

The next three hours were some of the longest in Vernon's life. Dudley cycled between crying, whimpering and kicking things in roughly ten-minute intervals, while Petunia just sat still on the very edge of the sofa, occasionally muttering things that sounded like "abnormal" or "freak".

The toothless man who owned the shack was surprised to find the Durselys still there. He made them wait while he 'cleaned' the flat (this involved as much spitting on the floor as it did mopping it) before he gave them a life back to the mainland.

After a disgustingly large breakfast in the first café they came to, Dudley cheered up enough to ask, "So now Harry's gone, you'll give me my second bedroom back, won't you?"

Vernon and Petunia exchanged glances. Now Harry's gone. That had a nice ring to it, didn't it?

Vernon put on the car radio as he drove back to Surrey, and the three of them sang along to Cliff Richard for all the world like they were returning from a jolly holiday by the sea.


	7. the sorting hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables then became quite still again."

Albus paused from his writing for a moment to bite the end of his quill. He was writing up his specification for the eleven uses of Dragon’s blood and he was positive he’d forgotten something…

_Duuuumbledore_

He’d got potions of bravery, curing verrucas, healing drafts…

_Dum-ble-dore!_

There it was again. A quiet, whimpering voice calling his name. Thoughts of Dragon’s blood temporarily shelved, Albus looked around his office to locate the source of the interruption.

_Dumbledore, I need you!_

It was the Sorting Hat. Albus nodded to Fawkes, who obligingly flew up to the high shelf where the Hat lived and brought it down to Albus at his desk.

“Thank you, Fawkes,” said Albus affectionately, offering the Phoenix a sherbet lemon. Phoenix bit off some of Albus’s parchment instead and flew off to eat it in the Owlery.

Albus lowered the Sorting Hat over his head.

“Hello, Albus,” said the small voice. “I sense you’re rather distracted today.”

“Yes, I am,” thought Dumbledore with, he thought, remarkable little irritation in his thought-voice. “You asked to speak to me?”

“I’m stuck on my song for next year,” said that Hat. “Have you thought of a new rhyme for Slytherin yet?”

“I’ve already told you a hundred times, free verse is—”

“At least tell me how Molly Prewett is up to. She was a real borderline case between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff you know, I— No— don’t!”

Albus tore the Hat of his head and threw it into the corner. He cursed the Founders under his breath, yet again. If you must create sentient clothing, at least give it something to do a bit more interesting that compose one song a year and gossip endlessly about the students!

Now then. We’ve got potions of bravery, verruca tinctures, healing drafts…


	8. the potions master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " It was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick."

There was only one room in the Castle which Argus refused to clean: the airy room at the top of the Small Locked Tower where the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance were kept, the very room where absolutely nothing at all had happened all those years ago on the birth of one Argus Filch.

Because Argus was a squib, and Hogwarts is no true home for those who can’t do magic.

Argus was nervous when Dippet called him to the Headmaster’s Office. Being called in was something which normally happened only when there was bad news, like the third-floor girls’ toilets flooding again, or some Third Years inadvertently creating a new, highly mobile strain of mould that threaten to take over the dungeons altogether.

Dippet and Dumbledore stood by the desk on either side of Hagrid, who was beaming tearfully and had somehow contrived to look small, even though he had a good few feet on both of the Professors.

“Argus, I believe you know Hagrid already. He will be looking after the grounds for you from now on.”

Argus had difficulty letting go of the keys when he tried to give them to Hagrid, but he was delighted to put the half giant to work. He had long wished for more power of the students, and here was his very own dedicated student at his beck and call! Hagrid worked diligently, clearing fallen trees in the Forbidden Forest, raking the lake for lost broomsticks, mowing the lawns, watering the herb gardens—all the horrible outdoors tasks that Argus hated. He had potential, this boy.

Hagrid did everything that Argus asked him to, until one fateful night when Mrs Norris caught two spoilt little Gryffindor boys out of bed. Argus suspected they were visiting _girls_ in Ravenclaw.

Argus skipped through the dungeons to Hagrid’s chambers and banged on his door as loudly as he could. “Wake up, Hagrid! First Years out of bed!”

Hagrid, half asleep, followed Argus through the Castle. “What are ye on abou’, Filch? What’s First Years got ter do wi’ me?”

Year after year, Argus watches the snotty little teenagers of Hogwarts growing up, making friends, defeating puberty, meeting their loved ones for the first time, and, above all, learning magic. It was a miserable life, but every now and then… it was payback time. Argus did a little twirl as they crossed the Great Hall and started to climb the grand staircase.

“Are yeh _drunk_ or summit?”

Argus showed Hagrid into the forth-floor cleaning cupboard (there are eighteen cleaning cupboards at Hogwarts) and handed him a long, bone-handled cane.

“You’re much stronger than me,” crowed Argus, greasy hair flying everywhere in his excitement. “This’ll teach these two being out of bed out of hours.”

The Gryffindor boys were strung up tightly in manacles, hardly able to breathe yet alone move.

“Go on! Thirty lashes each—at least!”

Hagrid stood frozen for a moment before he could react, shoving Argus out of the room and jammed the door shut behind him with a broken old chair.

Argus beat his fists on the door in outrage. “Filthy half breed!” he called. “Unlock this door at once!”

The manacles were locked, but not strong enough to resist as Hagrid ripped them bodily apart. He inspected the boys quickly. They were shaken, but unharmed.

“Come on,” said Hagrid to the boys, “Ignore ‘im. I think ‘e’s drunk.”

By the next day, Argus had collected himself and greeted Hagrid at breakfast as though nothing had happened.

But it had.

It only took a few weeks of needling Professor Dippet for Argus to have Hagrid moved out of the castle into his own Hut by the Forest. The official reason for this was so that Hagrid would be close to the animals in case of any disturbances at night; the unofficial reason was to make sure Hagrid spent only the bare minimum of time in the Castle, reducing the amount of mud he could traipse though the corridors; and the _real_ reason was so that Argus didn’t have to look at the stupid half giant any more than he had to.

“Imagine,” Argus muttered to Mrs Norris, “just _imagine_ being lucky enough to be a student here… and throwing it all away on a dirty giant _spider._ You’d have thought all these years of hard work and elbow grease would beat the stupid out of him but some people are just _spoilt_.” 

Mrs Norris mewled sympathetically. She understood Argus’s yearning. Thirty years stuck in cat form and counting…

And that was before Hagrid bought Fang.


	9. the midnight duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'We could have all been killed - or worse, expelled. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.'"

Hermione, aged eight, was a much less bookish girl than you might imagine. She enjoyed reading fiction, certainly, but she was sporty, athletic even, and she had a mania for finger painting which far exceeded anyone else in her class at the fee-paying primary school in London she attended.

At lunchtime, one a sunny day, Hermione and her friend Susan decided to live on the wild side by eating their packed lunches on the pavement outside the school gates. This was strictly forbidden, and it was something of a status symbol among their peers that they were brave enough to do it. Nobody could imagine what would happen if one of the teachers saw them!

It was Thomas Evans, a sniffly boy almost as square of face as he was round of body, who told Hermione about the importance of not stepping on the cracks between paving stones. “You’ll break your mother’s back,” he explained through the railings, with that special brand of seriousness belonging to to very young.

Hermione, high on the dangerous thrill of being outside of school during school hours—even if only by a few feet—proceeded to stamp up and down the pavement. “What rubbish!” she hooted. “You’d believe anything, Thomas Evans.”

When home time came, Hermione’s mother didn’t come to pick her up from school.

She waited outside the school gates for a good half hour before her father drew up in a taxi and whisked her off to hospital.

*

Hermione’s mother returned to normal health within five months, but Hermione never ate her lunch outside of the school gates again. Far safer to stay indoors where there was less risk of paving stones… and where the school library was. 

You could learn _anything_ in the library, and make sure you were never caught out again.


	10. hallowe’en

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face."

There are 3861 square miles of forest in Albania, but only one of them would contain what Quirinus was looking for. He would look for the rest of his life if he had to. But, Ravenclaw to the core, he knew that knowledge awaits those who can solve riddles.

“We are nearly there,” said Helena. “The hollow tree is at the top of this hill.”

It was too early for snow, only October 31st, but neither Helena nor Quirinus were naïve enough to believe this snowfall was natural. They trudged up the slope in silence broken only by Quirinius’s footsteps.

Helena hung back at the edge of a clearing, reluctant to glide any further. In the moonlight, her transparent white skin took on an icy sheen as though, despite her death, she was effected by the snow that fell through her body.

“Quirinus, we must turn back,” she said. “Something is very wrong here. I can feel… I can feel the cold.”

As she spoke, her jaw started creaking, a high-pitched squeak like ice rubbing over ice. Her ectoplasm was starting to freeze over.

Quirinus shivered too, the chill weight of the snow hitting him as the insulation charm that heated his body guttered and went out.

“I should never have brought you here,” said Helena. “Let us turn back now before it is too late!”

“G… g… go, Helena,” said Quirinus, teeth chattering. “You have d… d… done your p… part and it is not safe for you here. Go b… b… back to the village and I will j… join you there when it is d… d… done.”

Helena turned and fled without a backward glance, the cold fading as she went.

Later at their lodging house, Quirinus would tell her that what was left of the Dark Lord had been destroyed. She would go back to Hogwarts and her books happy in the glow of a good deed done well. Later still, she would learn that Quirinus lied to her and she had in fact lead the Dark Lord’s saviour directly to him. Quirinus was such a polite boy too… but so was Tom, and so was the Baron before he turned on her…

But one day, seven years hence, Helena would at last trust the _right_ raven-haired boy and finally help bring the Dark Lord to justice.

Quirinus stepped forward into the clearing. “Master?” he called, all trace of his stutter gone. “I am come to prostrate myself before you.”


	11. quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing."

Marcus took Oliver’s hand in his and squeezed. Hard.

He watched his opposing captain’s face for any sign of discomfort, but there was, as usual, none at all.

“Alright boys,” said Madam Hooch. “I want a nice clean game.”

As he kicked off, using his crushed fingers, Marcus’s mind filled with thoughts of the biting jinx, and whether or not it could be concealed in his palm. That would force the bastard to pay attention to him.

*

They had first met on the Hogwarts Express, six years ago now. Marcus came back from the corridor to find the younger boy in his compartment, peeking excitedly through a small hole in the brown paper around Marcus’s broomstick.

“Is this a Cleansweep 11?” asked Oliver.

Marcus hit him around the head with it.

But the younger boy stuck around, chattering about Quidditch, its teams and tactics, and above all its brooms. Marcus didn’t say much—that trademark gruff silence which had made him few friends at Hogwarts—but he liked the boy.

“You should try out for the Slytherin team next year,” he said.

“Oh, thank you! Yes! I certainly will!”

*

Marcus clapped politely when Wood, Oliver was sorted into Gryffindor, despite the odd looks this gained him from his fellow second-year Slytherins.

It was a shame the boy was cursed to be on the losing side his whole Hogwarts career.


	12. the mirror of erised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful."

Albus watches in the Mirror as Gellert leans a hand on his shoulder. He puts a hand up automatically to touch the younger man, but brushes only empty air.

The Mirror of Erised is a cruel invention.

Albus waits, and presently Harry arrives for his lesson. The boy tells him he sees his parents in the Mirror, the family he never knew.

Albus could have guessed, but he is too old and wise now to leave something so important to guesswork. He would need this knowledge one day, if not now, then soon.

Albus does not yet know how long Harry can have before he must face Voldemort for the final time. But in that moment, watching the messy-haired boy disappear back underneath the Cloak, Albus hopes that Harry will have time.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.”

*

Albus returns to this scene many times in his Pensieve as he pieces together his final design.

He smiles sadly to himself at the thought of Harry with the Resurrection Stone. It was a very different Stone from the one he had first intended the Mirror to prepare Harry for, but the lesson would suffice.

The Stone would give the boy strength to continue; but unlike so many weaker wizards before him, Harry would remember not to dwell on the family he would never have.


	13. nicolas flammel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " ‘I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.’"

Madam Pince looked up at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. The book the girl had presented to withdraw was… somewhat unusual.

“You have now borrowed a total of four hundred and sixty eight books from this library, Miss Granger, but not once have you withdrawn one which is not directly related to your magical studies.”

“I thought I’d do a bit of light reading, you know, relax before bed.”

Madam Pince pursed her lips. There were few students that she remembered at all, yet alone knew things about. Hermione stood out. She was the only student who had ever, during Madam Pince’s time at Hogwarts at least, tried to make a holiday loan by owl post before she’d even arrived for First Year.

“That is not _really_ what I would call light reading.”

Madam Pince opened the second drawer down on her desk, where she kept her own personal reading material. The drawer was enchanted to contain about two and a half miles of book space, end to end, so she Summoned the book she was looking for.

“ _A Hazard of Hearts?_ ” queried Hermione. “I’ve never read any Barbara Cartland.”

“I am not surprised.”

Hermione politely took the book away with her in addition as her other loan, but Madam Pince suspected she would only pretend to read it. Pity. It would do the girl good.

*

Back in her dorm room, Hermione waited until everyone else was asleep before casting a quick Lumos and opening her new acquisition.

_Batsford’s Modern Chess Openings._

It might take her a while, but Ron was going down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to L.M., my own high-school librarian. A good librarian is like a doctor for the soul, and I for one have always done well out of listening to their advice.


	14. norbert the norwegian ridgeback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " ‘But there aren’t wild dragons in _Britain?_ ’ said Harry. ‘Of course there are,’ said Ron."

The flames flared up suddenly in green and a tall, handsome wizard span into view. “Agent Longbottom, D.R.R.B.,” coughed Neville, flipping open up his identification badge and dropping it on the floor as he stepped out of the hearth.

Mari Stugwump looked up from her kitchen table, where she was doing a complex jigsaw puzzle (they’re a lot harder when the pictures move, especially when the picture is a group portrait and everyone has a different opinion on which piece should go where) and surveyed Neville impassively for a moment.

“Well hurry up then,” she said at last. “It’s been a three whole hours since I owled the bloody Ministry.”

“Budget cuts,” said Neville automatically. “Where is the, er, dragon?”

*

Plass Roald Dahl, the oval-shaped plaza by the docks in Cardiff, was already looking a bit worse for wear by the time Neville and Mari arrived. There were burn marks right down the middle, and two of the stone towers were bent at unnatural looking angles.

The Welsh Green had fallen asleep, curled around the golden Millennium Centre.

Neville was surprised to see Muggles walking past the dragon as though it wasn't there. One stepped right over its tail in order to enter the building.

"Have you Disallusioned it?" Neville asked Mairi.

"No," said Mairi, flicking her wand and uncoiling a long length of rope from it. "This is Cardiff. If you stopped to stare every time there was an alien invasion or a dragon attack you'd never get anything done."


	15. the forbidden forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Mars is bright tonight."

"We must tell the herd of what Firenze has done," said Bane, cantering into a clearing in the Forest with Ronan at his side. "It was not his place to interfere with what is written so clearly in the sky."

Ronan entered the clearing more slowly, his head flung back, staring at the stars. For many minutes, the two Centaurs regard the future in companionable silence.

"The future remains unchanged," declared Ronan at last. "Mars will return brighter still, and the Potter boy will return to meet his fate at the hands of the shadow."

"He has delayed it, then, forced another cycle" said Bane. "The punishment is the same."

Ronan sighed in acknowledgement. "So it shall be."

The Centaurs oriented themselves and set off towards the herd's favoured meeting place.


	16. through the trapdoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows."

"Ok, you need to get out of bed as a matter of urgency," said Fred.

"Really, you'll thank us," said George.

Lee turned over in his four poster and pulled up the covers to block the twins out. "It's not even light outside," he muttered into his pillow.

"Just look out of the window, Lee," said Fred.

Lee did. The window of their dormitory in Griffindor Tower looked out over the Lake, and he saw that it was completely frozen over.

"We've got two hours before breakfast," said George gleefully.

It was a simple matter to steal some ice skates from Filch's office and sneak out of the Castle. They were delayed a few minutes by a token snowball fight with Peeves, but made it to the Lake in good time.

"Right," said Fred, falling over as soon as he stepped onto the ice. "How exactly do you ice skate anyway?"

It turned out none of them knew how to skate, but they did have a lot of fun experimenting. George was the best at standing up, but Lee was the best at moving around, sitting on his backside and shooting hot air out of his wand to propel himself around. Fred found a way to perform the hot-air charm with an accompanying farting noise, and soon all three of them were shooting around like dogems.

It was Fred who slid too far from the Lake's edge, a hairline crack opening up between him and the shore. He laughed aloud at himself, contemplating his chances of falling in, but his blood went cold when he glimpsed something moving below the surface of the ice.

"Guys," he called out, "there's something down there."

Fred and George slid over to take a look. A pair of giant silver eyes blinked up at them from below the ice.

"Poor thing," said George. "I wonder if it minds being trapped down there? Whatever it is."

"I don't think this is a good idea," said Lee, as Fred conjured blue fire from his wand and started melting the ice. "It could be anything."

"One way to find out," said George.

Soon they had carved a hole in the ice about the size of a chess board.

A giant tentacle emerged and started flailing around the ice, feeling for something to grab onto.

"I should never have got out of bed," cursed Lee, scrambling away from it.

But Fred was braver, and held out his hand to touch the tentacle. It wrapped around his arm, and they sort of... shook hands. "She's freezing," said Fred. "Take off your skates."

Lee took off his skates, and Fred enchanted each with his blue flames so that they radiated heat like shoe-shaped hot-water bottles. The giant squid seized upon them gratefully and bore them off below the ice, the blue light of the magical flames fading and fading until eventually it was invisible again.

And so it was that the Weasley twins befriended the giant squid.


	17. the man with two faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's Cloak and everything?"
> 
> " _Well,_ " Hermione exploded, "if he did—I mean to say—that's terrible—you could have been killed."

Albus returned to his office to find Hagrid waiting for him, carefully polishing Fawkes's talons with a piece of charcoal. The phoenix looked very small, and very content, in Hagrid's hands.

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said Hagrid as he scrambled to replace Fawkes on his golden perch. His eyes filled with tears. "In the Hospital Wing—Harry—'s all my fault."

"Calm down, Rubeus," said Dumbledore. "I am sure Madam Pomfrey is giving him the best possible care. Tell me what happened."

Fawkes looked rather put out to have had his grooming interrupted.

Hagrid explained how he had accidentally given the secret of Fluffy away to a stranger in the Hogshead, and then again to Hermione, Ron and Harry. "I'm all packed an ready to go, Headmaster," he concluded, before blowing his nose on a handkerchief the size of a table cloth. "I've only got one thing ter ask yer, and I know I've no right, but if yer could give these to Harry. I've been collectin' 'em for him."

Hagrid reached into a pocket of his moleskin coat and withdrew a sheaf of battered photographs: Lily and James.

"Where did you get these?" asked Dumbledore, flipping through them. James pushing Lily on a swing that was two small for her. James, Remus, Sirius and Peter posing by a Christmas Tree. Lily throwing a snowball at the camera, over and over again.

"Had a few meself aready. Owled people that knew 'em for the rest, said they were for Harry."

Dumbledore handed the photographs back to Hagrid with a smile. "I think you should give these to Harry yourself. Take the day off."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"And let's keep what happened between us, shall we, Rubeus? I don't think Fawkes here would forgive me if I were to let you leave Hogwarts."

Fawkes cooed in agreement, sidling over hopefully.

When Hagrid had gone, Dumbledore sank into the chair by his desk to collect himself before visiting Harry in the Hospital Wing.

"You should have dismissed him on the spot, Dumbledore," said the portrait of Phineas Black, disapprovingly.

"I cannot punish another for fulfilling my own plan," said Dumbledore wearily.


End file.
